


Imperial

by missmungoe



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 12:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11081421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmungoe/pseuds/missmungoe
Summary: Because in every relationship, there is growth.Or: that time Shanks came home with a moustache, and no one let him live it down.





	Imperial

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you spend too much time debating the merits of facial hair in your favourite series. Also, silverscream is totally to blame for putting this image in my head. I'm still laughing, three days later.

“She’s not gonna like it.”

“No? I think she might.”

“You’ve  _seen_  it, right?”

A snort. “I’d have to be blind not to. I wager you could see it from Dawn now. Like a signal flare.”

The little island sat on the horizon in the distance, cheerfully unawares under the bright midday sun drenching the deck, a warmth of gold and salt-kissed sea spray as the prow cleaved through the water.

“She might not mind all that much,” someone said, after a lull.

“A thousand says she won’t let him touch her before he shaves.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

“My money’s still on her liking it. Boss always had a beard. She didn’t seem to mind it before.”

“If you want to call that a beard, sure.”

“It’s more than what you’ve got.”

“ _Now_  it is, yeah. Sea’s tits, I swear that thing gets bigger every day.”

“I know. I can’t stop staring at it. It’s like it’s pulling me in.” A beat, and then, “Given the size of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if it had a magnetic field.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Shanks asked from across the deck.

The conversation didn’t so much as hitch at his interruption, and Shanks heaved a sigh. “Insubordinate, every single one of you.” He turned to Ben, calmly smoking a cigarette. “You’ve been weirdly quiet about the moustache,” he mused, brows furrowing with suspicion. “Why is that?”

Ben didn’t take his eyes off the island, and said around his cigarette, “You make your own decisions, Boss.”

“Yeah, and you usually give me grief for them. I would have thought you’d have plenty to say about this.”

“I’ve learned to pick my battles.”

“What? You have  _not_.”

A shrug. “Maybe I’ve started now. You’re never too old to learn.” He threw him a meaningful look, which Shanks saw fit to ignore.

“Well, whatever you think, I happen to like it. So there.”

“Not saying you shouldn’t.”

“It suits me. Makes me look extra rugged.”

“It makes you look extra, alright.”

“What was that?”

“I said it’s quite a sight.”

“She likes me rugged, you know. Told me so herself. On several occasions.”

Ben let loose a curl of smoke. “I believe you.”

“What are we talking about?” Yasopp asked, coming to join them by the railing. He took one look at Shanks, and snorted. “God, I’m sorry – I keep forgetting that it’s there. Although I don’t know why, that thing’s the size of the Red Line.” He paused, and then, “Maybe _that’s_ what we should call it.”

Shanks glared. “What was that, dreadlocks-at-forty?”

Yasopp only grinned. “At least I pull them off.”

There was a collective murmur of disagreement from across the deck, and Yasopp barked, “Hey! I  _do_.” Then to Shanks, “But seriously, Boss. The stache has gotta go. Your reputation is suffering enough as is.”

“Captain Roger had a moustache,” Shanks said, affronted. “Didn’t affect his reputation.”

“Given that everyone already thought he was completely batshit, I don’t see why it would have,” Yasopp retorted.

“Hawk-Eyes has a moustache. I bet no one makes fun of  _that_.”

“No one would dare,” Yasopp quipped, and Ben snorted. “Also, it goes with the rest of his ensemble.”

“And mine doesn’t?”

“Yours makes you look like a middle-aged dad–”

“I  _am_  a middle-aged dad.”

“–pretending that he isn’t one. And it also kind of makes you look like a porn star.”

“Yeah, you are  _so_  not an authority on this subject, Curly. And  _porn star_?”

Ignoring him, Yasopp looked to Ben. “You hold him down, and I’ll get the razor. Can’t let Ma-chan see him like this – she’ll divorce him.”

“Maybe she’s better off,” Ben supplied. “In any marriage, you have to draw the line somewhere.”

“I’ve stopped listening,” Shanks said, brightly. “I’m going to see my wife, who loves me unconditionally. You won’t kill my good spirits – I won’t let you.”

“She might have a few conditions once she sees _that_ ,” Yasopp muttered under his breath, and Ben’s smile quirked. Shanks ignored them both.

It wasn’t long before they drew into port, the calm surf warm and welcoming, and Makino was already on the docks when they disembarked. Shanks caught her smile curving, the pleased tilt of her eyes at the corners that made his breath rush out, taking the last few months with it, and it was a lighter heart that stepped off the gangway, to where she was walking down the docks to meet him.

She stopped then, arrested, and he could see from the way her brows lifted that she’d caught sight of it, before her jaw slackened. And for all that she had the most honest face he’d ever laid eyes on, there was a second where Shanks couldn’t have hoped to draw anything conclusive from her expression.

And then she was laughing.

First a snort – a single, wholly unflattering thing that made her nose scrunch up, before the first peal of laughter fell, a bright, too-loud burst of undiluted, belly-deep mirth that seemed to rip from her chest, making her bend over from the assault.

The whole crew had gone quiet, but Shanks caught their grins, and heard the tell-tale _clink_ of coins as they changed hands at his back. Ben only held his palm out, accepting the offerings, and Shanks grumbled under his breath as he made to cross the docks to where Makino was laughing herself hoarse.

Hands on her knees, she seemed to be having trouble catching her breath, great, heaving gasps dragged in, even as her laughter pushed all of it right back out.

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Shanks told her, making her glance up – only that just made her laugh harder, covering her mouth as she tried in vain to suffocate the sound, shoulders shaking as she squeezed her eyes shut, as though the sight was too much to bear looking at.

“There was a time you’d come running into my arms,” Shanks mused. “Whatever happened to that?”

She didn’t even seem to have heard him, clutching her stomach now. “I can’t _breathe_.”

Smile a long-suffering thing, Shanks bore the gasping hiccups as Ben strode past, and with a sharp clap to his shoulder, barked a laugh and said, “Good to be home,” before he set off in the direction of the bar, a grinning Lucky on his heels.

“Go easy on him, Ma-chan. We’ve already let him suffer,” Yasopp told her. Then with a glance at Shanks – and the object of conversation, as though a third party to their reunion, “Then again, we’ve had to suffer the moustache, so I say all’s fair. Give him hell,” he chirped.

Shanks levelled a glare after him, to which Yasopp only flashed a grin, falling into step with the rest as they made to cross the docks into to the village, some of them offering Makino their condolences as they passed, although the shit-eating grins on their faces ruined the effect somewhat.

By the time it was just the two of them left, Makino had managed to wrest her mirth into something that allowed her to at least stand up straight, although she was doing a terrible job suppressing her smile, Shanks thought, and had a mind to tell her, when she gave up the venture altogether.

“Had your fun?” he asked, stepping closer to where she was standing, draped in the soft shade of the hull. But it was difficult even feigning that he was disgruntled with her cheeks flushed like that, and tears of mirth brightening her eyes, crinkled at the corners with an ever-growing smile that didn’t look like it had any plans to leave any time soon.

Dabbing them away with a fingertip, Makino blew a breath past her lips. “I’m good,” she said. She looked at the moustache again, lips pressed together to stifle her grin, at which she failed. Spectacularly. “For now.”

Shanks only looked at her, watching as her eyes traced the shape of it, before she reached up to touch her fingers to his upper lip. She shook her head, as though in awe, although he doubted it was the good sort, when she said softly, “Look at this.” She sighed around her laughter, brushing her thumb over the moustache where it curled at the corners of his mouth, and he fought the temptation to nip at her fingers.

Then, “Although I suppose it’s pretty mild, insofar as midlife crises go.” She lifted her eyes to his, smile small and clever. “I was wondering when that would be, with you turning forty this year. Maybe I should count my blessings.”

Shanks sighed. “This is what I come home to.”

“Oh dear,” Makino said, as though remembering something. “Our poor son.”

He frowned. “What about him?”

“You can’t let him see you like this.”

“He’s not even a year old,” he reminded her. “He probably doesn’t remember what I look like.”

“Exactly,” Makino said. “His first memory of you might be that moustache.” She touched her fingers to her cheek, brows drawing together in a surprisingly convincing show of genuine worry. “He’s so young, still. I’d hoped to spare him from the horrors of this world for at least a few more years.”

Shanks looked at her, shaking his head. “Horrors of this world,” he repeated, but it was difficult holding back his grin. “Nothing less, huh? God, I’d forgotten that you’re worse than Ben sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, although she didn’t sound it, and despite himself, his smile twitched wider. He’d always been at an unfair disadvantage when she laughed. “It’s just so–” She waved a hand at it, as though the gesture spoke for itself.

He raised a brow, and when she didn’t continue, “Oh no, please go on,” he told her. “By all means, don’t hold back on my account. Let’s have it.”

She pursed her lips. Then – “ _Red_ ,” she said at length, softly marvelling. As though only now realising just how much.

Shanks gave her a dry look for that. “And it was only then he realised that his wife had been colour-blind until this very moment.”

She huffed a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“I know you just used my trademark feature as an insult. Want to have a go at the rest of me while you’re at it? It’s been a while since anyone cracked a convincing one-armed joke.”

“Can you blame them? They’ve probably been distracted by the moustache.” She tilted her head, and as though in agreement, “I can’t stop looking at it,” Makino said, brows bunching together as she examined it. “It’s like it’s looking at  _me_.”

“O- _kay_ ,” Shanks said with a laugh. “That’s enough fun at my expense, I think. My vanity can’t take another blow, and from _you_ of all people.” He shook his head. “My dear heart.”

“I’m surprised your vanity let you to think this was a good idea in the first place,” Makino said, breezing right past the endearment. Shanks pouted.

“I thought it was a great idea. It’s _rugged_.”

“That’s – a word, yes.”

“Oh we’re being diplomatic now? What happened to ‘I can’t _breathe’_?”

Her eyes curved at that, her look desperately fond, although it did little to wipe the amusement from her features. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

Shanks cocked his head, a smile threatening now, despite his ruffled feathers. “Oh yeah?”

“Hmm. Once you’ve shaved off that atrocity.”

He stuck his tongue out, and with a grin, bent his head to kiss her, when Makino snorted her laughter against his mouth, and he drew back with a pout. “I don’t even get a proper kiss?”

She gave a tug at the moustache. “First you do away with  _this_ ,” she told him, and, lovely mouth lifting in a smile, “Then you can do whatever you want to me.”

He raised a brow, a clear challenge, and dropped his voice, “Only in that order?”

For once, she seemed entirely unaffected by the open suggestiveness in his tone. He had a sinking feeling it was the moustache’s fault. “Unless you want me laughing all the way through it,” she said. She looked at the moustache again. “It won’t be a swooning seduction; I can tell you that much.”

Lips curling in a wolfish smile, “Don’t speak too soon. Also, I like you laughing,” Shanks said, and before she could bat him away, ducked his head to steal a kiss, along with the laughter that followed as she scrunched up her nose at the scrape of the moustache. It turned the kiss sloppy, her grin too wide and her shoulders shaking too much for her to yield with ease, and she bumped her nose against his chin, struggling to hold back her mirth.

A sigh, his own laughter wrapped in it, and, “ _Fine_ ,” Shanks said then, punctuating his acquiescence with a firm kiss, before he grumbled against her mouth, “I’ll shave the moustache.”

He felt her smile, and when she drew back, pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Good man. I’ll help you, if you want.”

“As long as you don’t have Ben hold me down while you do it,” Shanks said dryly, “I’ll suffer the loss without complaining. Too much. I reserve the right to lament it a _little_ , you know it took me four months to grow this?”

“I think you’ll survive, although it’s good to hear you spend your time so productively,” she mused, giving a tug at his shirt. “And as tempting as that sounds, I’d rather Ben babysit.” Her eyes gleamed, impossibly dark in the soft shadow of the hull. “I had something a little more private in mind.”

He was about to offer a cheeky suggestion, when she added, matter-of-fact, “So the moustache has to go, because it is singlehandedly killing the mood. And it’s been months, so that’s something of a feat.”

He gaped, but before he could muster the voice to comment, at least beyond a splutter, “Hey,” Makino said then, delighted. “ _Singlehandedly_. That’s two in one!”

It was an achievement holding back his grin, and he saw she could tell, from the entirely too-clever light in her eyes. “I’m not giving you points for that.”

“That’s okay. Ben will when I tell him.”

He looked at her, gauging her expression, so fondly adoring – and then the way her eyes kept flitting from his to the moustache, and the smile that threatened to split her face. “There’s no hope for it, is there?” he sighed.

“Not even a little bit,” she chirped.

“I still think it makes me look rugged,” Shanks said when she linked her arm with his, her smile tucked against his shoulder as they set off to join the others.

Makino glanced up at him, seeming to study the moustache again. He had half a mind to ask if maybe it looked better from a different angle, when the corners of her mouth tugged upwards, and she stubbornly pursed her lips.

Shanks sighed, but he was smiling now. “Go ahead. Let it out.”

She did, and her laughter trailed behind them all the way to the bar, where the others had already made themselves comfortable.

“She’s still laughing?” Yasopp asked as they entered. “I clearly didn’t add enough money to the betting pool.”

“She stopped for breath,” Shanks said, sliding Makino a look, which she countered by tucking her tongue behind her cheek. “A good thing too, or you’d have passed out. So much for unconditional affection and support. I’m beginning to wonder if your wedding vows were entirely in truth.”

“If you’d worn that moustache at your wedding I don’t think there would have been one,” Yasopp intercepted smoothly.

Makino masked her snort with a cough, and Shanks only shook his head, a mutter of _betrayal_ lost under his laughter, before his attention was claimed by a happy little noise from across the bar.

Ben was holding the baby, and Shanks felt his smile stretching, taking in the changes that had occurred in the months he’d been gone – a full head of red hair, and enough control that he could hold his head upright where he sat, perched on Ben’s arm, a fistful of his shirt shoved in his mouth.

“But speaking of unconditional affection,” Shanks said, as Ben held the baby towards him, the shirt surrendered without a fuss, and Ben didn’t bat an eye at the dark stain of saliva seeping into the fabric. Shanks stuck his tongue out, as though to say _serves you right_ , before settling the baby on his arm, those little hands seeking the folds of his cloak with a hum of delight. He gave him a bounce. “You don’t mind the moustache, do you, little fish?”

Head tilted and dark eyes blinking, his son took one look at him –

and burst into tears.


End file.
